


Just below the surface

by killerweasel



Category: League of Gentlemen (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel





	Just below the surface

Title: Just below the surface  
Fandom: _Sherlock/The League of Gentlemen_ (sortof)  
Characters: John Watson, Mycroft Holmes([Hilary Briss](http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y107/pizzaweasel317/pictures2/muttonchops.jpg))  
Word Count: 1,397  
Rating: PG-13  
A/N: AU after _The Great Game_

John stared at Mycroft in silence for a few minutes. He would start to open his mouth, snap his jaw shut, shake his head, and then open his mouth again. Mycroft’s expression never changed. The elder Holmes pulled something out from one of the drawers and set it on the desk in front of John. The white hat had a single crimson fingerprint on the brim.

Mycroft gave John a very small smile. John frowned as he reached out and grabbed the hat. “That was you in the flat last night.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Mycroft tilted his head. “You were the madman in our flat last night who threatened to carve my heart out and serve it in a stew unless Sherlock did what you wanted.” This earned John another nod. “You terrified Sherlock to the point where he couldn’t even move. I had to actually drag him into my bedroom for the night because he was convinced you would come back and try to kill him.”

“He’s been afraid of Hilary Briss since childhood.” Mycroft ran his finger along the top of his desk. “I had to do something, John. You have no idea what he was like as a child. He was completely out of control and driving Mummy out of her mind. Sherlock wouldn’t listen to reason, especially not from me. He was still angry I’d gone away to school.”

Afraid wasn’t the word John would use. It was something much stronger than that. Sherlock had cowered behind John, trying to use the smaller man as some sort of human shield. He’d wrapped his arms around John’s body in a death grip to the point where John was starting to have difficulty breathing. He’d tried to shrug out of Sherlock’s grip, but it was like trying to untangle himself from a deranged octopus. Sherlock kept murmuring ‘no’ and ‘go away’ and ‘don’t let him get me’, which had filled John with fear. He’d never seen Sherlock frightened before and he never wanted to again. It was unnerving.

“I came up with Hilary Briss after Sherlock set part of the house on fire.” Mycroft scowled. “He burned part of my personal library. Some of those were the only editions in existence.”

John tried to picture a much younger Sherlock. He knew what Sherlock was capable of now whenever the bored grew to be too much. He thought about the face on the wall of the flat. It must have been worse when he was a child.

“I experimented with the costume, the make-up, my voice, and the teeth. It had to be perfect or Sherlock would be able to see right through the disguise. If that happened, all of my planning would be for naught and I’d have to come up with something else entirely.” Mycroft took a few swallows from the scotch on his desk. “Before I actually put it to the test, I told Sherlock tales of the madman, Hilary Briss. Hilary was a butcher who had gone mad. He was a cannibal and he sold his ‘special meats’ to certain customers who were willing to pay for something ‘exotic’. They had no idea it was the flesh of their missing neighbors.”

A chill went down John’s spine. He knew Mycroft would have gone all out to make Sherlock believe everything he was saying. Mycroft’s voice already seemed a bit deeper, more frightening. Hilary was just below the surface. John’s arms broke out in gooseflesh at the thought of being alone in the room with the madman.

“Once I was sure he believed the stories, and I made them so complex and detailed he didn’t doubt a word of it, I put the second part of the plan into motion. I wasn’t just playing at Hilary. I had to be Hilary. Do you know what it is like to walk in the skin of a madman, John? It was absolutely freeing. I could do or say all the things I normally kept inside. I didn’t have to play at being normal. I got to be a monster.” Mycroft leaned forward. “I loved every minute of it.”

John rubbed his temple. “I take it Hilary was used sparingly? You couldn’t have done it all the time or Sherlock would have caught on.”

“I’ve used him a dozen times.” Mycroft smiled. “Last night was so refreshing. It had been years since I allowed him to come to the surface. Things didn’t go so smoothly the last time around and I seriously thought about locking him away for good.”

“What happened?”

“Sherlock was out of his head on drugs. I still can’t be sure of what he’d mixed together. It was the final straw. I couldn’t just sit by and let him ruin his body and mind. I did try to reason with him before I got nasty. He attempted to hit me and I... I do regret what happened. You’ve seen the scar on the back of his hand, haven’t you?” John nodded. “He slipped while trying to shove me away and the knife caught him. Then he tried to climb out the window and onto the roof. It had been raining and he fell.”

Mycroft finished his drink. “Sherlock broke his leg in three places, cracked a couple of ribs, and almost knocked himself unconscious. He still tried to get away from me, though. I had to sit on him and hold a knife to his throat until the ambulance came. He went into rehab after that and he’s been fairly clean since the incident.”

“That was your version of Lestrade’s drug bust last night, wasn’t it? You must have caught him on one of your cameras buying from that idiot junkie.” John sat back in his chair. “I don’t think he was actually going to use them, Mycroft.”

“I couldn’t be sure. If anyone would prevent him from using again, it would be Hilary. I do apologize if I caused you too much stress, John. None of last night was aimed at you.” Mycroft actually did look sorry. “I would have warned you, but it helped if your fear was genuine.”

John picked up the hat and turned it over in his hands. “Can I see him one more time? I still can’t believe that was you. He’s like the anti-Mycroft or something.”

Mycroft laughed. “Give me a few minutes.” He took the hat from John’s hands and walked into an adjoining room.

It wasn’t Mycroft who came back through the door. It was Hilary Briss. The hair on the back of John’s neck went up as the madman stalked his way across the room. He smiled at John, revealing teeth which looked like they hadn’t been properly cared for in years. Between the ginger muttonchops, the blood-splattered apron, and the suit, John was having a very hard time remembering the man in front of him was actually Mycroft. Hilary came closer, pulling a razor-sharp knife from his pocket. “You wanted to see me, Doctor Watson? Here I am. How is Locky? I bet he’s still cowering in his bed like a frightened child.”

John drew back in his chair as Hilary pressed forward. “You’ll keep an eye on him for me, won’t you? Locky gets himself into all kinds of trouble. He’s such a naughty, naughty boy.”

John’s nose wrinkled at the smell of unwashed person and old blood. The knife was getting rather close to his throat and he felt trapped. He could feel his breathing picking up. “I’ll watch him, Hilary. I always do.”

With that, Hilary backed off until he was standing behind Mycroft’s desk. John watched him clean blood out from under his nails with the knife. “I’ll be seeing you, Doctor Watson.” He gave John a smile as he left the room.

John closed his eyes and worked on making his body relax. That had been almost as frightening as the night before. It was hard to believe Mycroft was underneath that costume. While Mycroft could be menacing, he was never like that. Part of John had been convinced the madman would slit his throat if he so much as blinked wrong.

Mycroft came back a short time later. All traces of Hilary were gone. He eased himself into his chair “Would you like a drink, John?”

“I’d love one.”


End file.
